What do you know?
by The Cynical Idealist
Summary: What? A story where Spike isn't dead? Or is he? Is this just a lame, late night summary? Yes, yes it is...
1. Here we go again

What do you know?

Authors Note: Hi again. If you've been reading my other story, _Neo FLCL, _you would have noticed that I discontinued my original Cowboy Bebop fan fic, due to it wrecking the show. Well, I think I found a way in which to continue the drama. I own nothing but the storyline. Everything else belongs to the fine folks at Bones. Also, I will make mistakes because I haven't seen the movie in a while. Enjoy, and correct me if you notice anything MAJOR.

Mike

Chapter One: Here we go again…

"You get the memo?" I looked up, the vid screen's hypnotic hold broken. I had been watching news coverage on the Red Dragon coup. I hadn't heard about them in a long time. I yawned and stretched my arms over my head. I liked keeping my boss waiting. He sighed, shook his head and continued. "We need someone to go down and dig up some facts on the coup; who started it, who died, and what's the state of the syndicate as a whole?" I felt a chill run up my spine as soon as he said "who died." "Electra? Are you okay?" I shook my head.  
"Yeah, I'm fine. I… just had a weird feeling." Oh, that wasn't cliché. I shook my head and stood, grabbed my digital notepad and stuffed it into my handbag. "I'll be back in about two hours, chief."

"Oh, and take Skip with you." Shit. I hated Skip. Sure he was a good photographer, but he was always hitting on me, and he wouldn't look me in the eye, if you get my meaning. He always thought he was being sneaky, but I caught him in the act. Damn little weasel. "Okay, boss…"

"My, my, Electra, you certainly look…"  
"Skip, you want to keep singing bass? Then knock it off."

"I was just going to say…"

"I'll make sure that Pavarotti is jealous of your range if you say…"

"Alright, alright, alright. Jeez! You act as if I'm some damn little weasel!" And this was the car ride to the site.

"Holy hell…" Holy hell, indeed. This place wasn't just a war zone, it was chaos incarnate. Smoke billowing out in large, dark plumes, fires licking at the horizon. The building was in shamble, pieces of the ceiling still caving in. The cops were setting up a perimeter, but a few people were still getting through. And then getting "politely" pulled back. I nudged Skip and motioned to one of the less gruff looking cops. He nodded, and pulled out his camera while I moved to the guy.

"Excuse me, officer? Can you fill us in on the details of this raid?" He looked at me and breathed heavily before he spoke.

"As I told the others, we'll have a full conference in about ten minutes. Please, wait until then."

"But…"

"WAIT until then." Huffing lightly, I stalked away, looking over the yellow tape to see whatever it was I could see. The paramedics were already carting away bodies. All dead. The blood had soaked through the white sheets that were placed over them. I could hear a few other reporters cursing behind me, and the sharp snap that Skip's camera shutter made as he caught a moment of this massacre on film. I shook my head. How senseless. Even a soldier knew when it was time to stop, but this… Again, I shook my head and walked back to the officer. Ten minutes had gone by more quickly than I had expected.

"The way we figure how this happened was this scenario; a lone agent of the Red Dragon Syndicate, who was code named Vicious, was detained by the head of the order." Pens were scraping against their matching pads as the cop kept talking. "He had planted explosives within the main hall as well as the counsel room. This caused enough of a distraction for him to escape, and those loyal to him slew the others. Now Vicious had become the head honcho of this organization. But there was an as-of-yet unknown party that interfered. Two individuals, heavily armed, swept through the base, eliminating the Syndicate members. One died as they reached the elevator. The other had sent out grenades, further damaging the building's structure." The occasional snap broke the pauses. "We are still moving forward through the building, but there is too much damage for our force to go through quickly. They have to be very cautious. The building may fully collapse if they don't watch it." I nodded to myself while I wrote down "police brave dangerous building." All the papers tomorrow would have a similar sentence in their coverage. Sudden shouts for more medics brought everyone's attention to the building. Six or seven men stood hand-cuffed and looked sour, but the police had two other people in tow on stretchers. One wore a long dark cloak, dark clothes, all dark aside from his long blond –or was it silver? It was hard to tell at this distance – hair. In his hand he still clutched a long katana. Standing on his chest, oblivious to the police shooing it away, a raven-like bird pecked at the man's chin. Some sort of unconscious malice fell over him and I labeled him immediately as Vicious. It had to be him. And on the other…

On the other was a man in blue clothes stained black with blood. His shirt had its long sleeves rolled up. A fold in the front came down, making a triangle of the material. And his head… I gasped and covered my mouth, dropping the pad and pen. Blood streaked down his face, but that wasn't what made me start. His hair. His hair was green and almost afro-like. And I knew who it was. I knew who would be the only one who could stand up to the largest crime syndicate on Mars virtually by himself and win. It was him.

Spike Spiegel.

Immediately I started running to the cops, dodging the guards and ducking under the tape. It was impossible. How could he be… He wasn't dead, they had called for medics. But, damn it, he looked it. I reached the stretcher and my instinct was right. It was him.

"Spike," I said softly. One of the cops nodded to another, who then walked up to me.

"Sorry, miss, but you got to leave. He and his pal here are bleeding from multiple wounds and we are trying damn hard to make sure those don't get infected. So stay back." I nodded and wiped my eyes. I was crying, but not because of emotion, just the rank, rusty smell of blood on both the men.

"Where… which hospital are they being transferred to?"

"I believe it's the St. Mary. It's…"

"I know where it is." I shook the man's hand, I don't know why, and I turned back to the crowd, walking back to the car.

"What the hell was that about, Electra?"

"He's a… friend, I guess you'd call him." I was still walking, Skip hot on my heels.

"What, he was an old flame? A boyfriend? A lov…"

"Shut up, Skip, and get in the car. I'm going to the hospital to see what happened."

That's chapter one. Next one may be coming out soon. Or amendments to this chapter. See you, space cowboys.


	2. That Knucklehead

Author's Note: Despite my dislike for breaking up the story with these notes, I would just like to thank the reviews I got for this story. After a brief hiatus from FF, due to writer's block (which I have a chronic case of), I had to finish this after rereading the reviews. It isn't that great of a chapter, but it is one of those bridge chapters we have to read to get to the good stuff. Thanks again, and I hope you enjoy it.

Chapter Two: That Knucklehead…

I was on the bridge, still wiping the damn windows, when I got a call. It was from Bob at the I.S.S.P, but my damn leg kept me from getting all chummy with him. That and Spike was still out. I didn't expect him to come back, except in a body bag. After the initial pleasantries, he paused for what seemed to be an eternity. My arm buzzed slightly, short-circuiting and sending a shock through the nerves.

"God damn it!" I said in my most calm, Zen voice. Needless to say, it scared the crap out of Bob. "Sorry… P.O.S. arm. What were you saying?"

"It's your partner, Jet. Spike." My blood turned cold. "The Red Dragon Coup? He was the cause of it. And now he's dying; blood loss, concussions, near hemorrhaging. All in all, it doesn't look good. He's being moved to the St. Mary's. You know where it is, by the…"

"I know. Thanks Bob."  
"Uh, Jet I know this is a bad time and all, but… well."  
"Get to the damn point."  
"Spike could face jail time. And your crew could be implicated as accomplices."  
"What?" I stared at the receiver in my hand, stunned. "He just wiped out a buncha

hard ass gangsters, doing you guys a favor, and we're gettin' busted?" He sighed sadly,

which just got me more pissed. "What now?"

"Like I told you a while back, during the truck incident, the majority of ISSP cops are giving the Syndicate tips on raids and insider trading in exchange for cuts. Crooked bastards. With the Syndicate gone, there is going to be a serious decrease in more than one bank account."

"Always incorruptible." I chuckled. "But I still don't understand why we'd have charges pushed on us."

"Obviously, cops aren't the only ones on the payroll. And a suit could be fined for first degree murder and manslaughter. Spike has killed about twenty-four of the Syndicate."

"But they were the bad guys."

"That's debatable. When someone breaks into your ship and kills nearly all of your crew, doesn't that sound more like the bad guy?" The silence that followed hurt my ears. Finally, I sighed, and winced as a new shock went up my arm.

"I told you to get that fixed." Faye. I kept forgetting she was on my ship. She hadn't made a peep ever since she had spent all the rounds in her pistol. I'm just glad that she didn't hit anything important. I think. I looked over to the door, where she was just leaning against the frame, arms crossed. She wasn't looking at me. She was looking past me, at the stars. She didn't look the same. I mean, she looked like she always did, but there was an air about her that was… different. I put my hand over the receiver.

"You okay?"

"Hm? Oh, sure. Is that Spike?"

"Uh… no…" I couldn't bring myself to say anything about the coup. "I'm sure he'll be calling in a little while."

"Not if he's dead." She walked away. Her shoulders shook a little.

"Jet? Hey, Jet!" Oh, yeah, the phone.

"Sorry, had some business to attend to."

"Yeah, well, do you know what you're going to do now?" I chuckled at that remark.

"Bob, when the hell did I ever know what I was doing?"

"Always."

"Bull. I just was really good at pulling the wool over your eyes."  
"Jet…"

"…You always were a good buzz-kill, Bob. The most I can do now is go to the hospital. We can figure out what to do when and if the lawsuits come."

"I'll be watching for anything involving you guys. You'll know what I know within minutes. It's a promise."

"You're too good to me, Bob."

"Eh, what are friends for? Besides, by now you owe me. Big time." He laughed. I laughed. I prayed he was joking.


End file.
